


paint you by numbers

by theonewiththelarrystories



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththelarrystories/pseuds/theonewiththelarrystories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a tatto!kink</p>
            </blockquote>





	paint you by numbers

The day Harry got his first tattoo, he came home with a bleary smile on his face and a dazed expression, falling onto the couch and nuzzling into Louis’ side. He seemed to be half asleep while Louis had checked it out, laying him out on their bed and carefully undoing the bandages. He figured Harry was just out of it from the pain but then he started rutting up against Louis’ leg and, well—that was that. 

Except for after the tattoo is fully healed and safe to touch, they’re messing around and Louis presses his thumb right in the middle of the star, just because he’s curious and wants to see of he can leave a finger shaped bruise there. But then—then Harry whines and his body goes taught for a minute, before he shudders and moans, taking in a ragged breath. Louis, alarmed, pulls away, a worried crease in between his eyebrows. But Harry just smiles at him in that fucked-out way of his and Louis casts his eyes down to his crotch, only to see that he’s come all over himself. Louis’ a little startled, because, in all fairness, he hadn’t even taken Harry’s jeans off yet. 

But even still, Louis chalks it up to Harry being a little sensitive there, because the tattoo is still fresh and he has always known that Harry has a bit of pain kink. He doesn’t think anything of it, just kind of ignores how whenever Harry gets a new tattoo he’ll come home pliant and half-hard, until he gets his fifth tattoo and when he presses close Louis can feel the outline of his erection in his trousers. 

Louis just laughs at him, tells him to sort himself out and turns away, goes back to making his tea. But then Harry whines and drapes himself over Louis’ back, kissing at his neck and pulling on his shirt. 

“Jesus,” Louis mutters and turns around, grabbing Harry’s elbows, steadying him. 

Harry looks at him with wide, desperate eyes and chokes out a hoarse, “Please,” sounding so wrecked Louis really has no choice but to pull him in and kiss him hard. Harry grinds against his leg and comes almost as soon as Louis gets a hand on his cock, shuddering and shaking so hard its edging on violent. He moans low into Louis’ neck and drops to his knees, trousers still pooled at his ankles and shirt still on, mouthing at Louis’ bulge through his jeans. He’s so eager, sloppy, yanking Louis’ pants down and sucking him in quickly, bobbing his head desperately and clutching onto Louis’ thighs. It takes him almost no time at all to take Louis all the way in, moaning around him and staring up with red rimmed, watery eyes, so needy and—Louis thinks he sees a little bit of gratitude there, too, a silent thank you as he sucks him in deep and swirls his tongue. 

When Louis comes, Harry swallows it all and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, impossibly hard again, cocking curving up toward his belly, wet at the tip. Louis hauls him to his feet and presses him against the counter, kissing him and threading a hand through his hair. Harry bucks his hips and lets out a needy whine, and when he comes for the second time he’s managed to last long enough for Louis to get two fingers inside him, bucking down onto them and holding himself up with both hands behind him, gripping onto the marble so tightly his knuckles are white. 

He slumps into Louis and tucks his head into the crook of his neck, breathing raggedly, ribs heaving. Louis kicks Harry’s clothes out of the way and guides him to bedroom, holding on tight to his hand so Harry’s buckling knees don’t give way. Louis tucks him in for a quick nap and climbs in behind him, curving his chest to Harry’s back and kissing his shoulder, listening while Harry’s breathing evens out and he falls into a deep sleep. 

When Harry wakes up a little while later, Louis isn’t there, but Harry can hear the shower running. He throws the covers back and pads into the kitchen, grinning as he scoops up their discarded clothes and carries them into their bathroom, dumping them in the laundry bin. 

“Look who’s up!” Louis chirps when he comes in, shampooing his hair. Harry sticks his tongue out at him and turns the sink on, getting his toothbrush wet and squirting some toothpaste on it. He brushes Louis’ taste out of his mouth and spits, turning the water off, wiping his lips with a towel. 

“Wanna come in with me? I’ll wash your hair for you,” Louis offers, raising his voice a little to be heard over the sound of the water. 

Harry pulls a face and pouts, gesturing to his still bandaged arm. “Can’t get it wet quite yet, gotta keep it wrapped up,” he says, blushing faintly and hauling himself up on the counter. 

Louis raises his eyebrows and turns away, rinsing the soap out of his hair. After a moment, he says, “So is this like, a thing for you?” 

Harry blanches, feels his face heating up. “Is what a thing?” he pretends he doesn’t know what Louis’ talking about. 

Louis throws him a look over his shoulder and turns back, grabbing the bar of soap and lathering it over his chest and neck. “Tattoos,” he elaborates, “pain, I dunno.” 

“No,” Harry splutters, tugging on his bracelets awkwardly. He’s still naked and suddenly his body feels entirely too hot, heating up all over, like he’s blushing everywhere. The cool granite pressing against his bum and the backs of his thighs calms him. 

“Huh,” Louis plays along, “just thought it might be, cause whenever you come home from the tattoo shop you’re super horny.” 

Harry shrugs. “I’m always horny,” he says, admiring Louis’ bum through the glass shower door. Louis looks back at him and laughs, seeing where Harry’s eyes have gone. He wags his arse playfully at him, grinning. 

“Its true,” Louis says, turning back around so he’s facing Harry. “You’re a fucking disaster. Like a dog in heat.” 

“But you love me!” Harry crows, grinning stupidly. Louis just shakes his head fondly, pouring some conditioner into his palm. 

“No bloody idea why.” 

Harry sticks his tongue out again, laughing. “Cause I’m good at giving head.” 

“And you’re real modest about it, too, aren’t ya?” 

Harry giggles and swings his feet, heels hitting the cabinets below him. They fall into comfortable silence, Harry silently praying Louis won’t bring the tattoo thing up again. He doesn’t, decides to let it go for now, seeing the way Harry got all hot and uncomfortable at the mention of it. Of course, Louis being Louis, wants to push it further, see if he can really make Harry squirm, but decides to let it sit for awhile, maybe play with it a little bit. 

 

One night after Harry’s just gotten out of the shower, he comes into their bedroom, naked save for a towel wrapped around his head. Louis laughs at him from his spot on the bed, book propped on his lap. He flips him off and turns his back, bending over to untie the towel and scrub it through his hair, trying to get all the wetness out. 

Louis stares at his bum, the smooth, pale roundess, eyes the fading pink lines his fingernails made the previous night, remembers how bright they were, how starkly they stood out on his skin when Harry paraded around in just one of Louis’ oversized t-shirts afterwards, peeking out from under the hem, where it feel just halfway down his arse. They were so bright, so defined, stood out like a tattoo. The thought of tattoos has Louis thinking back to their unfinished conversation, and he puts his book down, reaching out for Harry. 

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning him closer. Harry lets the towel drop to the floor and comes over, crawling across Louis’ lap to settle at his side. He flops down on his belly, props himself up on his elbows and looks up at Louis’ through his eyelashes. Louis runs a hand through his curls, watching Harry’s eyes fall closed, relaxed. Cautiously, he lets his hand drop down Harry’s shoulder and slide across the top of his arm, dipping below to feel the soft skin of his underarm. Harry tenses, eyeing Louis warily as he skates his fingers from the crease of his elbow to start of his armpit. He finds the “hi” tattoo, his favorite, and presses the pad of his finger in, sharply. 

He leaves it there a few seconds, pressing into Harry’s arm, seeing the way his whole body tenses up, skimming over the line of his body, all the way down to his feet and back. He pulls his hand away and puts it back in Harry’s hair, soothing him. “Remember when I asked you if it was a thing?” he says quietly, scratching at Harry’s scalp. 

Harry says nothing for a long time, just stares at the cover of Louis’ book. “Yeah,” he finally says, so quiet its practically a whisper. 

“You never answered me.” 

Harry waits awhile to respond again. “Yeah,” he repeats, clearing is throat. 

Louis takes his hand from Harry’s hair and rubs it over the top of his back instead, dipping it down his spine. “Why not?” 

Harry shrugs slowly, still refusing to meet Louis’ eyes. “I dunno,” he whispers, worrying a loose thread from a pillowcase in his fingers. Louis fights with himself, wants so badly to keep pushing, but Harry looks so embarrassed he feels a little bad, so he lets it go, reaching for his book again. 

“Okay,” he says, patting his lap. Harry gives him a questioning look but is too grateful that he doesn’t have to talk about it to say anything, just scoots closer to Louis and rests his head on his lap, getting comfortable. 

Louis continues reading, holding the book with one hand, stroking the other through Harry’s hair, down his back, rubbing the back of his neck gently. Even after he’s gotten through a chapter and a half, he can still feel how hot Harry’s cheek is where one’s pressed against his thigh, burning right the through the thin material of his pajama pants. He feels guilty, knowing Harry must be really embarrassed about this, but Louis doesn’t even know why, Harry’s never shy about what turns him on, even the weirder things, and this really isn’t even weird. 

“Harry, I am trying to read,” he says exasperatedly, hoping to lighten the mood. 

Harry turns to give him an incredulous look. “I’m not even doing anything!” he protests. 

Louis sighs and shakes his head, putting his book down on the night table. He gestures to the way Harry’s splayed out on the bed, still entirely naked. Harry cranes his neck to look back at himself, drawing his eyebrows together. Turning back to Louis, he frowns. “What? I don’t get it.” 

“I’m trying to be intellectual, but you just have to go and have your bum out all the time,” Louis sighs dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. “Its horribly distracting.” Harry giggles and arches his back, pushing his arse up into the air. He wiggles it like a dog, grinning. Louis tries not to smile and turns his nose up at him. “You are out of control. I don’t even know what to do with you anymore.” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Harry falls back onto his stomach and laughs, inching closer and sprawling himself across Louis’ legs, resting his chin on his belly. “Louissss,” he whines after a few moments, when Louis still hasn’t acknowledged him. Louis glances down at him but looks away quickly when Harry catches him. 

Harry rolls onto his back, folding his arms behind his head, wiggling around until he gets comfortable on Louis’ legs. Louis breaks and rests a hand on his chest, splaying his fingers out. Harry sighs happily and smiles up at him, fringe flopping down into his eyes. 

Louis reaches forward to brush it away and when he pulls his hand back it skims over Harry’s inner arm, making Harry shiver. He looks down at his arm, traces the lines and curves of his tattoos with his eyes and then looks up at Louis shyly. Louis says nothing, just takes his hand and runs it down Harry’s arm again, with a little more pressure this time. He presses into the middle of the star with his thumb, watches as Harry’s muscles tense and his cock begins to thicken. 

Harry blushes as he looks down at himself, biting his lip. He rolls onto his stomach again, so his cock is pressing into the mattress underneath him. Louis grips onto his arm, digging his fingernails in a little. Harry’s breath hitches and he whimpers, nuzzling into Louis‘ leg, trying to hide his face. 

Louis leans over and kisses the back of Harry’s neck, the very top of his head. “I,” he whispers as he drops his hands between Harry’s legs, reaching below to feel how hard he’s getting, “am beyond okay with this being a thing.” he pulls his hand back and skims his fingers over Harry’s hole, feeling him shiver. 

Harry whimpers and nods, turns his face to the side so he can look up at Louis. He’s already flushed and needy, Louis’ fingers pressed into the sharp black lines on his skin really doing it for him. He grinds his hips down, rubbing his cock against the mattress. Gripping onto Louis’ legs, he pants, “please fuck me.” 

Louis nods and nudges Harry off his lap, twisting to discard his pajamas and grab the lube from the nightstand. Harry pillows his head in his hands and ruts against the sheets, mouthing at the pillow in front of him while Louis fingers him open, kissing the back of his neck, his shoulders, down his spine. 

Louis draws his fingers away and slicks up his cock, lining himself up behind Harry and pushing in, slowly and gently, just rocking his hips down into Harry. Harry lets out a low, guttural moan and fists his hands in the sheets, knuckles white. “Yeah,” he pants out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck, yeah, its a thing.” 

Louis groans into Harry’s neck, thrusting faster, holding onto his hips and keeping him steady. Harry moans at the rough drag of the bedding against his cock, clenching tight around Louis and drawing him in, beginning to whine. 

Louis slows down and rocks into him gently, linking his fingers with Harry’s tightly, kissing his ear. “This good?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Harry pants, grinding back onto Louis’ cock a little. “Yeah, like that.” 

When Louis says he’s going to come Harry whimpers and turns his head to the side, nodding furiously. He buries his face in his arm, moaning, clenching around Louis and fucking his hips into the sheets. Louis groans when he sees what Harry’s doing, catches the pink of his tongue licking out over the star, tracing it with the pointed tip. 

He comes when Harry bares his teeth and bites at the “hi,” gasping into Harry’s hair and burying himself all the way in. Harry moans desperately and ruts against the mattress, sinking his teeth into the Temper Trap lyrics and coming, face screwed up in pleasure. 

 

From then on its a regular thing, Louis goes with him to almost all of his appointments, holding his hand while the ink sinks into his skin, whispering to him quietly enough that the artist won’t hear. 

Its a little ridiculous, how much he gets off on it. Louis’ a little startled, the first time he goes with Harry to get tattooed. He gets so hard, so quickly, Louis thinks it must hurt a little, feels a bit awkward for Harry’s artist. He just laughs though, noticing Louis’ expression. “Happens every time,” he grins, shrugging. “And to a lot of people. He’s not the only one, don’t worry.” 

Louis feels a little better, then, and dives right into it too, almost high off of Harry’s reaction to it, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks and Louis can tell he’s trying so hard not to squirm around. 

Louis always rewards him for that, tells him how good he is, how proud Louis is of him. He ruffles his hair and kisses his ear, whispers “You’re such a good boy, I’m so proud of you, you alright?” 

Harry will just gaze up at him and pull his lip between his teeth, a pleading expression on his face. 

Louis holds him closer, nuzzles into the soft hair behind Harry’s ear with his nose. “You’re almost done, so proud of you.” Harry grips into the arm of the chair, stomach muscles tensing and contracting, and Louis knows he just barely holding back a whine. 

When they get to go home Louis spreads him out on the bed, pins his down by the wrists and ghosts his lips over the marks on Harry’s skin, careful to avoid the bandage covering the newest one. He likes to bite them, it makes Harry’s back arch and he throws his head back, moaning loud, exposing his neck for Louis to suck marks into. Sometimes Harry is so keyed up he comes before Louis’ even in him, body jerking and striping his chest with his come. 

Louis pets at him, lets him recover for a bit before he pushes in, overwhelmed by Harry’s tight heat. Harry groans and wriggles, oversensitive but its good, stretching his arms above his head to curl around the base of the headboard. 

Its kind of crazy, really, how much this both gets to them—sometimes Louis wonders if Harry has so many tattoos because of the way it turns him on, and he gets a little worried, because tattoos are permanent, after all, but then Louis gets his first tattoo and he understands, how its addictive, almost, the sting of the needle and the adrenaline. 

And if Louis thought Harry was desperate before, he gets a harsh reality check when he comes home with his tattoo, because Harry just attacks him, kissing him so hungrily Louis’s a little worried about him for a minute. And then he fucking goes and—and bends over, begging hoarsely, and its all too much, way too much. And when Harry will clutch onto his bicep, press his fingers into the text there, he almost always loses it, letting his body be slammed by Louis’ thrusts and just taking whatever he gives him, even after he comes and comes all over himself and he’s oversensitive but he doesn’t care, like his fingers against the ink is enough to keep him grounded, safe. 

Louis thinks thats part of it, how permanent it all is, thats what really gets Harry off. Its like a promise, to him, its hope, etched into his skin, hope and memories and promises, most importantly. Thats why the “hi” is both of their favorites, why Harry’s eyes will go wide and black if Louis so much as runs a finger over it, why Louis’ practically obsessive about it, kissing it, biting it, staring at it all the time. 

Its like a reminder, a private little “hi, don’t forget, this is ours, you’re mine and I’m yours, always, permanently,” for when things get really tough, uncertain and rocky, because no matter what, they have this, they’re tethered together permanently, the ink is in their veins and it runs just as thick as the love.


End file.
